DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He listened, in the midst of the dark, spiraling cave, because it was all he had left to do – taking the information in with grains of salt. A habitual need to fight back spurned against his sides and contorted around his ribcage, but then he had to wonder, had to ponder, if he’d caged those he cherished. Kiada had told him not to once – that she hadn’t required his constant aid, that she didn’t want him hovering around, and he’d backed off, only permitted to grant and give her protection through weaponry or armor. He’d committed to her independence, her boldness, her desire to do things on her own – not asked to go into LongNight’s demolition, not mired alongside her as she went with Wessex’s crew into this cursed plain. In the end, she was lost anyway.
Had he done the same to Amalia? To Rexanna? To Hotaru? Was that how he’d begun to lose them all, by simply trying to offer anything he could?
And if no one wanted whatever granules and fragments he had left, then what good was he?
The dream he’d had with the Penumbra, briefly floating through his brain, had told him of some filaments Loren spoke now; to keep the better times in his memories, in his heart, and that she hadn’t wanted him to continue the self-torture. But sometimes it was all he had remaining, chiseled away in bones and ethers. “I will keep it in mind. Thank you.” Except his wouldn’t come back.
His attention drifted back to the cavern itself, and the tunnels lingering off to the sides. Was there more elsewhere? “Let me know if you see one that reminds you of the metal.” Or maybe not at all – but he didn’t want to go picking and plucking at stones haphazardly, uncertain of what the effects would bring. If they went further along, and found more, perhaps it would be clearer.
Had he done the same to Amalia? To Rexanna? To Hotaru? Was that how he’d begun to lose them all, by simply trying to offer anything he could?
And if no one wanted whatever granules and fragments he had left, then what good was he?
The dream he’d had with the Penumbra, briefly floating through his brain, had told him of some filaments Loren spoke now; to keep the better times in his memories, in his heart, and that she hadn’t wanted him to continue the self-torture. But sometimes it was all he had remaining, chiseled away in bones and ethers. “I will keep it in mind. Thank you.” Except his wouldn’t come back.
His attention drifted back to the cavern itself, and the tunnels lingering off to the sides. Was there more elsewhere? “Let me know if you see one that reminds you of the metal.” Or maybe not at all – but he didn’t want to go picking and plucking at stones haphazardly, uncertain of what the effects would bring. If they went further along, and found more, perhaps it would be clearer.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
